A pheasant in a non pear tree!

What a gift, huh?

Seriously, though, Honeydew and Brother Dear went pheasant hunting with our sweet friend Hank, down near Valier, and returned with quite a beautiful Christmas gift for me.

Look at those colors … we humans have nothing on the bird race … this photo hardly does Mr. Pheasant justice … the back of his neck was that peculiar blue-green one normally associates with the Caribbean, or maybe the middle fork of the Flathead river in late August.  I marveled over the way those turquoise colors flowed beautifully into his coffee-and-cream patterned feathers at mid back, and further, into the terra cotta hues of his tail feathers.

Trouble with my gift is that Roy thought that it was for him, and that he had suddenly morphed into a bird dawg.

On a different note, how does one determine which day of Christmas it is, anyway?  Do you count backward from the 25th, making the 12th day the 25th, and today the 11th?   Such queries keep me up half the night, when I should be dreaming of pheasants and lake trout and elk and other bounty gathered from the Rocky Mountain Front.

Merry Christmas Eve, y’all.  And happy birthday to my daddy, too.

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